


urban decay

by lemonistas



Category: Jonas Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 19:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonistas/pseuds/lemonistas
Summary: The eyeliner continues to fascinate him, transforming him from a sweet boy who sings songs about lovebugs into something darker and far more dangerous.





	urban decay

**Author's Note:**

> Importing old fic from LJ - originally posted 3/8/2010. If you got here by Googling yourself, hit the back button NOW.

Marissa is forever leaving her makeup bag behind, so when Joe finds it kicked under the living room coffee table one day, he doesn’t pay it much attention. He’ll give it back the next time he sees her, he thinks, when they’re all together on set in a few days.

He keeps forgetting about it, though, and by the time the weekend rolls around, Marissa’s upgraded her stash and Joe’s still got the shiny purple pouch sitting on his dresser. And yeah, maybe he opens it and checks it out, uncaps the tiny pots of glitter and goo, smears something pink and pearly across his upper cheeks like warpaint. Maybe he uncaps a pencil and draws huge circles around his eyes, coloring in the space between his browbone and eyelid with chalky black kohl, and maybe he covers that with shimmering gold cream when he’s done.

He’s in the middle of maybe-possibly figuring out the mechanics of mascara when Garbo opens the door, stops in the middle of a sentence about Vietnamese food, and doubles over laughing.

“You look like a gay Batman,” he chokes out, and Joe throws the tube of mascara at him.

*

He eventually figures out that you’re not supposed to fill your eye sockets with color, and that the little pencils work much better when he tugs the tips just along his lashline. He loses interest in the rest of the makeup kit – blush is boring, and his skin is perfect as it is – but the eyeliner continues to fascinate him, transforming him from a sweet boy who sings songs about lovebugs into something darker and far more dangerous.

He keeps it in his room when they’re at home, of course – Kevin might love high-heeled boots, but Joe doesn’t think the world is prepared for a Jonas in makeup – and he always remembers to wash his face thoroughly before leaving the house. He’d forgotten only once; he’d managed to scrub most of it off in the car with his fists, and no one had said anything outside, but Nick had pulled him into a dark corridor once they made it through the door of the radio station. Joe had stood speechless as Nick ran his thumb and forefinger over Joe’s eyes, spit-damp and rubbing too hard against the delicate flesh, and Nick had wiped his hands on Joe’s jeans before pressing a quick, dry kiss to Joe’s cheek.

“Try harder next time,” he’d whispered before grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling them back to the group.

Joe had spent the entire interview staring at the dull black smudges on Nick’s hands. Later, when their mother announced that they’d be eating dinner at Alegria that night, he’d asked one of the security guys to drive his car back home so he could ride with Nick; they’d made it maybe half a mile down La Brea before Joe covered Nick’s hand with his own and Nick pulled his truck into an alleyway.

Nick was barely able to throw the vehicle into park before Joe was on top of him, and they showed up for dinner twenty minutes late with their hair thoroughly and stupidly mussed. Joe made up some story about stopping at a gas station for beef jerky and chasing a dog in the parking lot and Nick’s levels were low so we had to check them, oh, hey, can I get some tortilla chips, while Nick sat next to him, spine ramrod-straight and refusing to relax until Joe squeezed his knee under the table.

But yeah, Joe’s never forgotten to take it off again.

*

Ostensibly, Nick came over to work on songs for the new album. In reality, they’d jammed to _Abbey Road_ for about an hour before Jack and Garbo went out for a late dinner with Rob, and despite their best efforts to be Serious Musicians, Nick and Joe eventually end up pressed against each other on the basement couch. Joe is taking his time with Nick, who’s breathing heavily as Joe licks his way down his neck.

They’ve been luxuriating in this weird, unexpected privacy ever since Joe moved out of the family home. They used to pull each other into rooms only when no one else was around, staying deathly quiet even when Joe eased Nick’s zipper down and pushed a hand into his boxers, even when Nick sucked dark, harsh bruises into the soft flesh below Joe’s hip. They’d slept in Nick’s bedroom, since it was the furthest away from anyone else, and Joe always set his alarm entirely too early to ensure that he’d be back in his own bed before anyone even thought of waking him up. Everything was hushed and stolen, and when they kissed, it was with an undercurrent of urgency – _hurry up, Mom’s going to be home soon_ and _we’re supposed to be watching TV with everyone else right now, we’ve got to move._

In Joe’s new house in Los Feliz, Jack and Garbo don’t blink an eye when Nick comes over and stays locked in Joe’s room for hours at a time. They’re either wrapped up in their own lives or they just don’t care, Joe doesn’t know, but he congratulates himself on his decision to move out every time he drags a low, aching moan from between Nick’s lips.

“Can’t do this at home,” Nick breathes, casting his eyes downward to where Joe’s working open the buttons of his shirt. “Unnnnh, yeah, right there.”

Joe bites into the meat of Nick’s chest, tasting sweat and salt and the chemical tang of cologne. He somewhat desperately wants to mark up Nick’s neck, wants to leave a trail of possession above his collarbones, but they’re still purity-ring-wearing Disney demigods, and the higher-ups would frown on that even if the marks _hadn’t_ come from Nick’s older brother. His chest more than suffices, though; Nick is absurdly self-conscious for someone so attractive, and he still blushes when Joe runs his hands along the lines that define his pectoral muscles. Nick’s hand is caught in Joe’s hair, bristly-short under his fingers, and Joe sucks hard, feeling Nick’s smooth skin pucker and discolor under his tongue.

Nick moans with the loss of suction when Joe slides back up his body and presses their lips together. Joe knows that Nick is seventeen and is used to getting off in under ten minutes, but he plans on drawing this out. He licks into Nick’s mouth as he eases his torso up, pushing Nick’s useless shirt off his shoulders, wrapping one arm around Nick’s back and cradling the nape of his neck in one callused hand. Nick drags his teeth across Joe’s bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth and suckling at it, and Joe lets his legs fall apart to bracket Nick’s hips.

Denim scratches against denim as Nick pushes up, rocking their cocks together. Joe brings his other hand down Nick’s chest to paw at his abdominal muscles, feeling the strength beneath the skin as Nick pumps his hips into Joe’s. He pulls away, gasping, and Nick shoves his hands beneath Joe’s too-tight t-shirt. Joe obediently stretches his arms towards the ceiling, letting Nick strip him, letting Nick drop the thin fabric somewhere behind the couch and pull their faces close together.

“You missed a little bit,” Nick says quietly, drawing his index finger along Joe’s lower eyelid. It comes away with a dusky greyish-black line, and Joe ducks down to capture it with his mouth. He sucks at Nick’s finger gently, running his tongue along the whorls and ridges of his fingerprint, grinning slightly when Nick’s pupils dilate and his breathing grows quick and shallow. It’s a promise of what’s to come, and Joe almost laughs when Nick hooks his finger in the hollow of Joe’s cheek and pulls him back down for another kiss. Nick’s just so _impatient._

When Joe breaks for air, Nick’s staring into his eyes, intent and curious.

“Yes, my eyebrows are real,” Joe says, pressing down where he’s grabbing Nick’s shoulder. “No performance-enhancing drugs necessary.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “I know, jerk. I just…” he hesitates, glancing down to where his hand is hot and solid on Joe’s slim waist. 

“What?” Joe prompts.

Nick looks up. “I want to see it,” he says, tracing the paper-thin skin underneath Joe’s eyes. “I want to see you wearing it.”

“Yeah?”

Nick nods. “Yeah.”

*

They’re sitting on Joe’s bed, pressed together from shoulder to hip, with Nick propped against the pillows and Joe propped against Nick. Joe’s got a mirror in one hand and a slim black pencil in the other.

“Is it like a real pencil?” Nick asks, and he sounds so young.

Joe shakes his head. “It’s softer, okay? Watch,” he replies, before closing one eye and setting to work.

His strokes are practiced, now, and he draws a single perfect line along the fringe of his eyelashes. He turns the pencil over and feathers the line with the sponge, enjoying the contrast between black kohl and tanned skin. He repeats the process with his bottom lid, keeping the line lighter underneath – Joe loves pandas, but they’re not exactly sexy – and blending the color together at the edges. He adjusts the mirror and begins to work on his other eye, and he’s partway through softening the line on his lower lid when he catches sight of Nick behind him.

His little brother is resting his chin on Joe’s shoulder, and his pupils are blown beautifully wide. He’s staring at Joe’s reflection in the mirror like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. His cheeks are flushed dark pink, like the powders in Marissa’s kit; his lips are parted slightly, puffy and red, and Joe realizes that he’s probably been biting them raw the whole time. He looks debauched, somehow, his curls tumbling down over his forehead, and Joe needs to kiss him, like, five minutes ago.

The angle is awkward, but Nick’s lips are slick and hot. He kisses Joe back desperately, wrenching him around and depositing him on his lap, and Joe’s arms instinctively wrap around Nick’s shoulders. Nick has grown strong over the last few years; his arms are thick with muscle, and if they’re not as well-defined as Joe’s, it’s not for lack of trying.He feels Nick’s flat, wide hands glide up his back, their path slicked by sweat.

Joe smiles against his little brother’s mouth, pressing in with tongue and teeth.

“I want you to put that on me,” Nick gasps when they finally pull apart. His dick is pressing hard and hot against the back of Joe’s thigh. “Please.”

Joe thinks about this beautiful boy in eyeliner and groans, twisting in Nick’s lap and straddling him. He wants to see Nick’s big brown eyes outlined in black, stark against his pale skin; he wants to see Nick’s lashes fanned out against his cheeks, dark and overwhelming. He takes Nick’s mouth again and grinds his hips down, and when Nick arches up against him, he fumbles around the comforter to find the pencil.

“Mmmph – hold still,” he says, pulling away from the kiss and grasping Nick’s jaw with his free hand. Nick jerks below him, little shuddering movements as he holds Nick firm, and Joe files that information away for later. “Close your eyes.”

Nick obeys, and Joe gets to work, moving in so close to Nick that their bare chests press together.

His brother is much paler than he is, Joe thinks. The black pencil that blends into his own lashline is startling on Nick, a clear delineation between brown eyelashes and white skin. He tilts Nick’s head to the side as he works his way towards the outside rim of Nick’s eye, and Nick’s hands tighten on Joe’s hips. His fingers are digging into soft flesh and solid bone, and when he thinks about the Nick-shaped bruises that’ll be there tomorrow, Joe’s body temperature ticks up a few degrees.

He dabs the sponge along the lines he’s drawn and switches to Nick’s other eye, brushing a wayward curl away from Nick’s forehead. Nick’s clearly not used to this, not like Joe is; he’s wrinkling his nose and twitching his eyebrows the whole time, little flutters as he tries to keep his eyes closed against the chalky drag of the pencil. His skin is impossibly soft here, and Joe’s careful to keep the pencil gentle against Nick’s virgin eyelids, short little strokes where he can see tiny veins beneath the surface. He draws the line a bit thicker as he gets closer to the edge, blending it with the line below, and he pulls back to admire his handiwork.

“Can I open my eyes?” Nick asks quietly, jaw working against Joe’s palm.

Joe kisses him quickly, not moving his hand. “Yeah,” he answers, and Nick’s lids snap up and it’s better than he ever imagined.

The dark brown of Nick’s irises appears almost black, and it makes Nick look young and surprised and completely _gone_ ; the whites of his eyes are brighter than ever, nearly glowing in the half-light of Joe’s bedroom. Nick’s the one who has the more technically masculine features, he knows, but the liner brings out the little cat-shape at the edges of his eyes, makes his nose seem trimmer and his cheekbones seem higher. His mouth is reddish-purple now, and Joe shifts his hand slightly so he can press the pad of his thumb against Nick’s lower lip.

Nick looks very nearly _delicate_ like this, and Joe wants to dirty him up but _good_.

“Is it okay?” Nick asks, worried, and Joe nudges his thumb inside Nick’s mouth instead of replying.

Nick’s mouth borders on sinful under normal circumstances; right now, it looks worn and abused and swollen, and Joe hisses as Nick draws his thumb in fully, twisting his tongue across the tip. He knows exactly what that mouth is capable of, what Nick can do with lips and tongue and teeth, and the thought makes him go impossibly harder in his jeans.

Joe pulls his thumb away and tilts Nick’s jaw back up, taking advantage of Nick’s still-open mouth to shove his own tongue in without pretense. Nick moans, and Joe swallows it, teeth knocking against each other with each rough swipe of Joe’s mouth against Nick’s. Nick bends his knees and slides Joe closer, so close that there’s no space between them from their mouths down to their cocks. Nick’s dick is trapped in his jeans, pressed flush against his stomach by Joe’s weight, and Joe cants his hips so they’re lined up properly. 

“You’re so awful,” Nick pants into Joe’s mouth, working his hands down so that he’s grabbing Joe’s pert, plump ass through his jeans. Joe wriggles happily under Nick’s touch, and the burst of precome from Nick’s cock is strong enough to soak through onto Joe’s bare stomach.

Joe draws back. He wants Nick longer than this, doesn’t want this ending with both of them creaming themselves like it’s the first time all over again. “Tell me what you need, baby boy,” he says, letting his hand drop to rest on Nick’s shoulder. “You want me like this? You want my hand? Whatever you want, babe.”

Nick blinks a few times; he’s dazed under the eyeliner, face gone loose and slack with desire. “Can – can I have your mouth?” he asks tentatively, and Joe has to try hard not to laugh at his little brother.

“Hell yeah you can,” he says, smiling at the way Nick’s eyes go wide as he makes his way down his body. Nick’s mouth is unholy, of course, but Joe doesn’t think he’s any slouch himself; years of surreptitiously studying videos on his computer have made him something of an expert. He doesn’t take notes, of course – that’s Nick’s territory, and God help the band member who picks up a notebook expecting lyrics and finds Nick’s musings on fellatio instead – but he knows what Nick likes.

And even though it doesn’t matter much what Joe wants in this situation, he knows he likes having his mouth on Nick’s cock.

He holds Nick down with one tanned forearm as he works his jeans open, eases them off his legs along with his boxers. Joe purposely drags the elastic waistband over Nick’s cock, enjoying the weird little gasp-hiss Nick makes, traces his fat dick with his fingers once he gets him naked and spread out on the bed.

Nick’s waist is tiny compared to his broad shoulders and broader thighs, and Joe slots his hands in the curve above Nick’s hips before dropping a simple chaste kiss on the head. Precome is dripping liberally from the slit, now, and Joe takes his time tasting it, running his tongue along his lips and glancing up at Nick from underneath heavy, dark eyelids.

“ _Joe_ ,” Nick pleads, and he decides to take pity on his little brother. He leans forward and envelops Nick’s cock in his mouth, feeling the full-body groan Nick releases once the head of his dick is bumping against Joe’s soft palate.

Nick is drawn tighter than a guitar string right now, and Joe can’t help but toy with him a little; he fits his hands underneath Nick’s ass, digging his fingernails into Nick’s flesh and pushing him further into his mouth. He loves the taste of Nick, dark salty boy-flavor. He draws back, pulling off Nick’s cock with a soft _pop_ , and runs his tongue along the spongy tip, dipping into the slit and savoring what he can. 

Joe runs his tongue along the length of Nick, and Nick jerks up against him, his cock rubbing smooth and slick against Joe’s cheek. Joe thinks about just jerking Nick like that, letting Nick come all over his face, and he feels wetness surround his own dick, still constrained by underwear and too-tight jeans.

Nick is pumping his hips, now, pistoning against Joe’s face, and Joe releases one side of his ass to bring his hand around and keep Nick’s groin in the general vicinity of the bed. He lets out a frustrated grunt that turns into a high-pitched groan when Joe relaxes his throat and swallows Nick down, pulling back a few inches before sucking him deep again.

The very tip of Joe’s nose is brushing against the soft hair at Nick’s base on every downstroke, and as ridiculous as Joe feels, Nick’s totally into it; he’s thrashing beneath Joe’s grip and his eyes are shut tight, black liner dark and solid where his lashes begin. His hands are clenched in the soft comforter, but Joe lets his teeth graze the underside of Nick’s cock while he draws back and then Nick’s hand is on the back of his head, pushing him down into the thatch of curls.

Nick’s scent is particularly strong here, and Joe’s eyes are watering; he tries to breathe around his mouthful of Nick and is only somewhat successful. Nick twitches at the movement of Joe’s mouth and keens, high and otherworldly, as he comes down Joe’s open throat.

Joe works him through it, swallowing as much as he can and massaging Nick’s ass as he jerks his way to the end of his orgasm, gasping and calling Joe’s name. He finally manages to pull off of Nick and slides back up his body, lips grazing sweaty, spent skin before meeting Nick’s raw mouth. Nick is breathing heavily like he just ran a marathon, but he sighs into Joe’s kiss and licks at his tongue, lapping up his own taste as he fumbles with the fly on Joe’s jeans.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Joe mumbles, throat raw and voice hoarse; he wants to get off and he wants to get off _now_ , but Nick’s trembling like a leaf and he doesn’t feel like explaining to a bunch of concerned emergency-room doctors that he blew his brother into a diabetic coma.

Nick laughs shakily into Joe’s mouth. “If you’re up to it, so am I,” he says, like it’s a challenge – _which Jonas brother can give the better blowjob?_ – and he’s rolling Joe over onto his back and sliding down the bed.

Joe’s never as struck by the juxtaposition of Nick’s mind and Nick’s body as he is when they’re together like this. Nick’s seventeen, he knows, and sometimes, he even looks it; baby-soft stomach and bright, smooth skin. But Nick’s never once allowed himself to be seventeen, emotionally or mentally, and it makes Joe ache for the little brother who grew up too fast and too soon. Nick is exhausted and fucked-out, but he’s determined to finish off Joe like he’s the last cut on their new record.

“You’re such a workaholic,” he muses as Nick peels his jeans and boxers from his thighs. Nick just rolls his eyes and ducks his head and _oh_.

Nick’s been good at everything he’s ever tried to do, and this is no exception. He can’t go deep like Joe can – his mouth is too shallow and his jaw bears too much strain from years of vocal exercises – but he uses his tongue in ways Joe never thought possible, especially not coming from his kid brother. Nick’s mouth is tight and hot and wet, and Joe tries to keep himself from fucking up into Nick, lets Nick set the pace when they’re like this. The suction Nick applies is positively mind-blowing; he hollows out his cheeks and _sucks_ like Joe’s a milkshake and he wants every last drop of him. Nick’s hands rake across his stomach, and Joe clenches his muscles against Nick’s blunt fingernails.

Nick pulls back just enough for Joe to get a really good look at him, and what he sees is almost too beautiful to be real. Nick’s got his mouth stretched around his cock, suckling Joe’s length with lips that are red and hurt-looking around the edges. His hair is a mess; riotous curls spill down from the crown, splaying every which way across Nick’s sweaty forehead. And his eyes – he’s looking straight up at Joe, easy gaze like he’s still completely blissed out from his own orgasm. His eyeliner is smudged around the edges, sweat and tears and exertion blurring the clean lines Joe drew earlier.

Joe brings a hand down to trace the messy black liner, and Nick leans into his touch for a moment before drawing his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Joe’s dick, and that’s it. He’s gone. Joe arches off the bed, vaguely aware that Nick’s following him with his mouth, still sucking gently, milking him for everything he’s worth.

He collapses when he’s done, hooking his hands underneath Nick’s biceps and hauling him back up. He tries to kiss him but finds that he’s too spent to do anything. Nick giggles, an uncommon and welcome sound, and Joe smiles. He brushes his lips over Nick’s, aware of the wetness pooled in the hollow just below, and sighs happily.

“I hope this stuff isn’t too hard to get off,” Nick says lazily, fumbling around for the blanket draped at the side of the bed. He pulls it over them both and tucks the edges underneath Joe’s splayed limbs.

Joe snuggles down, tangling their legs together and pushing his face into Nick’s neck. “We’ll deal with that later, okay?”

Nick is warm and comfortable next to him, so when he replies, “Okay,” Joe decides that this is the perfect opportunity to drift off to sleep; he breathes in deeply and nuzzles into the crook where Nick’s neck meets his shoulders, safe and happy and wrapped up in his brother.

  



End file.
